


christmas smells

by oobiemcruby



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:10:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2891567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oobiemcruby/pseuds/oobiemcruby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A <i>hehehe</i> from right above you makes you throw your head up with the death glare to end all death glares ready to end the life of the mortal who dared to laugh at your misfortune and, oh. It's <i>him</i>. Of course <i>he'd</i> be here, ready to laugh at you and the terrible situations you always seem to get into whenever he's around. Never mind that you're clumsy because you always seem to lose control over your limbs when he's in your general vicinity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	christmas smells

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [homestuck secret santa](http://homestuck-secret-santa.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr for [croatoancuddles](http://croatoancuddles.tumblr.com/).
> 
> MERR CHRISTMAS!

You scuff your feet along the pavement, not wanting to go home just yet, and not having a particular destination in mind, either. You sigh. Why does your family have to be so fucking _frustrating_? It's not as though it's that hard to get along, ignoring the issues you have with each other for just _one_ day isn't difficult, it's not even that...urgh. You would prefer if everyone was actually passive aggressive, so you could at least pretend that everyone is getting along, for once. Instead, you get shouting and anger, as is usual with your family of hotheads. Except your brother, of course. He just stands there with a pious look on his face like he's above it all, the dickmunch.

You look up to the sky and wish that it wasn't so full of clouds, so you could see the stars for a bit. Feeling small because of the great cosmic scale of the universe always has a way of making your problems seem small and insignificant.

Given your gaze is elsewhere, you have no time to correct your footing and you trip over your own two feet head-first into one of the stupid trees the city council decided to dress up for Christmas. Pine needles are definitely not cushy or nice, they're prickly as all fuck and now you have them stuck in your ugly as shit jumper and they're poking into places they're not wanted. Grumbling to yourself, you angrily attempt to pull them out of your jumper, _trying_ and quite-possibly-oh-yes-you-definitely-are failing to get them out of the fluorescent green atrocity of a Christmas tree your lovely grandmother decided to knit onto your jumper.

A _hehehe_ from right above you makes you throw your head up with the death glare to end all death glares ready to end the life of the mortal who dared to laugh at your misfortune and, oh. It's _him_. Of course _he'd_ be here, ready to laugh at you and the terrible situations you always seem to get into whenever he's around. Never mind that you're clumsy because you always seem to lose control over your limbs when he's in your general vicinity.

It's been what, a year since you saw him last? And he still sports those two front teeth and glasses like a goddamn fashion statement, he hasn't changed a bit.

You let him finish off his giggle to maximise the amount of time you can put in on the glare you're sending him, and then you drop your gaze to his chin, a growl bubbling up in your throat.

"Are you done?" you say with enough force in your words to get it through his thick skull that just maybe, maybe you're not so up for being laughed at right now, but he just smiles and takes a step forward, arm outstretched. You hesitate, before grabbing his hand and letting him haul you up to your feet and out of the nefarious clutches of the tree.

"Nice to see you too, Karkat." Holy fuck, he really is just all smiles, isn't he. You reluctantly admit that he has changed a little bit since you last saw him. He's taller, and up close you can see he's actually capable of facial hair, there's stubble under his chin. It's always the _nice_ ones who grow up to look attractive, isn't it? You've just grown up to look like grumpy chipmunk. Because it's not as though you scowl all the time, not at all.

Well, you will scowl through this encounter, and pretend as though smiling right back at his buck-toothed orthodontic atrocity of a grin isn't exactly what you want to be doing.

His smile wavers, and you silently pride yourself on your ability to tone down that smile of his, despite the fact that a part of you sort of regrets bringing his mood down. To avoid the feeling, you turn around to the tree that started it all, turning your death glare to its happy ornaments and overall cheerful disposition. Fucking Christmas.

"Did you really hate the Christmas decs that much that you decided, 'What the hell, let's run head first into them, that'd really make me feel better, and I'd get to ruin council property while I'm at it!'" John cheerfully says, and you can tell he's barely repressing another smile, appreciating his own wittiness.

"As you just saw, I actually fell, you dumbfuck." You worriedly look over the pile of tinsel and Christmas lights which came off the tree, crossing your fingers that you didn't _actually_ break anything. "And because I know how much of an upstanding member of society you are, you can help me put that clusterfuck of Christmas 'finery' back into some semblance of order, can't you John?"

John laughs again. "Sure, Karkat. As long as you promise not to go running into another tree, just so I can help you clean that up, too."

The scowl that was receding makes another appearance, and you huff because it sounds like the kid is onto you, and you can't have that at all. "It wasn't like I intentionally decided, 'Oh yes, Christmas tree right over there, better ruin it so my message of Christmas Shittiness gets spread across the land.'"

John dubs a serious face. "But Karkat, that's what you do every year, why would you want to disappoint anyone?"

"Oh ha ha," you say, with a sardonic look in John's general direction. "But I am nothing but a bitter disappointment, so going back on my promises would just be part and parcel of the package deal."

You can feel his eye roll as you bend down again to pick up more of the strangely heavy Christmas decorations. Did they make them out of cement? Did they plan on the mass murder of innocent council dwellers, with the manufacturers a ready culprit? How the fuck did you get away from your altercation with this demonic tree when these 'decorations' are clearly instruments of death?

You quickly glance up, and you can see that John has jammed his mouth shut in a manner you hope is to stop his _really manly giggles_ from coming out and has set to work actually picking up the garish shit pile that is the assorted decorations of death.

It only takes a couple of minutes to chuck the decorations on the tree, and it looks sufficiently shitty enough for your tastes that you're actually kind of proud of yourself.

"I don't think we should be trusted to decorate another tree. Ever. Again," John laughs, steps back to admire their handiwork.

"It really screams how much we don't give a fuck about the holiday season at all." You huff a breath out, watching it curl and play with a lump of tinsel the branches of the tree seems to be having a hard time holding.

"I think it speaks more for our artistic talent," John says, putting on the air of someone surveying a priceless piece of art. "Ah, yes. The placement of those baubles, right there, really symbolises – oof."

You elbow John in the ribs, while stifling some hysterical laughter which is threatening to force itself out. "Don't you need to be home already, with your family?"

John frowns, as though putting two thoughts together is extremely hard for the limited capacity of his brain. "When I left them, Jade was eating herself sick on pudding, and challenging everyone to out-eat her. So, no. No I don't need to be back unless I want to die from cake. Which would suck." He seems to realise the horror of his words, and gives a shiver.

"I guess you could walk me home, then, chivalrous knight that you are."

John bounces on his feet. "Let's go!"

He takes your hand, almost forcing your arm out of its socket with how excited he seems about the turn of events.

"Onwards!" he cries, as though there are actually people surrounding him, a crowd he needs to please with his ridiculous words. You roll your eyes, and follow him back down the street. Which you are both going in the complete wrong fucking direction.

***

**_Next Christmas_ **

Stupid door. Never fucking works when you want to get into your apartment in a hurry. Wait. No, it doesn't work full stop. Because it is a piece of crap and you sure as hell shouldn't be paying the amount of rent that you are for this place.

" _Please_ ," you plead pointlessly with the unrelenting door. "I just need to get in before Asshole from across the corrid-"

"Hey, Karkat!" says boy wonder, and you can _feel_ those buck teeth edging their way around the words.

"Hey, Egbert," you say with a shit-tonne less enthusiasm for the situation on the whole. Was it too much to ask for the world, no, your own fucking _door_ , to actually do the mostly pointless job it holds in its inanimate existence and open in a timely manner? Apparently yes, because you are still out in the hallway subjected to Asshole's aborted attempts at conversation, when all you wanted to do was crash on your couch and watch soppy Hallmark movies about the meaning of Christmas. Possibly while consuming a two litre carton of ice-cream, but that part was completely optional, weighing entirely on whether your day was just plain shitty or completely fucked up. You turn, hoping that if you look angry enough, he'll give up and enter his apartment like a normal fucking person.

Never one to back down from what he views as a challenge, John plunders ahead, seemingly oblivious to your less-than-accommodating mood.

"Crazy how much our landlord went all out with the mistletoe, huh?"

To be completely honest, you hadn't noticed, given how tired you are when you come home from work. You grunt in acknowledgement and turn back to the door. You will win this fucking war, without ruining the door in the process because you are just _that good_.

John clears his throat, as if he has some more observations to add to the conversation. "You gonna make me be any more obvious, Karkat?"

You raise an eyebrow. "I think that should be entirely left up to you, and whether or not you've decided that yes, becoming Captain Obvious really is your life goal, and you definitely need to voice your affliction to the world at large."

He gives a huff, before stifling what you decide is laughter, as though he thinks your acidic barbs are actually humour.

"Well I wasn't meaning that, exactly." He takes a step closer to you. "It's more the mistletoe. And what you usually do under it." You can tell he's giving one of those funny side grins he has, and oh. Hmm. Suddenly you're not tired at all, but your belly is doing nervous half-hearted flips, as though it hasn't decided to take John's words at face value yet, giving him a chance to be more _obvious_.

You frown, as that's easier than letting your thoughts get away with you, it's your default setting after all, and quickly glance up and over John's stupid _attractive_ face, and to your doorway. Ah, mistletoe.

"Right, so you mean when you usually stand underneath it to pull the pesky weed out so it can be stomped on and fed back to earth where it clearly belongs?" You go ahead to do just that, but John sort of knocks your arm and makes a clumsy grab for it in the same move. Co-ordination is definitely not one of his strong points.

"Nah, I mean when you do more of this."

Oh god he's really going for it, smooth one-liners, puckered and moistened lips and everything. You dodge the attack, turning your head so that all he gets is a mouthful of the finest piece of cheek this hallway has seen in the last five minutes.

John starts making overly enthusiastic noises you think are his attempts at drama to cover up what may have just been the most awkward kiss since two apes decided mashing their mouths together actually felt good and that they should spread that misinformation like fucking wildfire. You can hold a grudge like no one else on this fucking earth, so much so that you think you may have cancerous growths born from the pent up anger you feel towards humanity on the whole.

He pulls back, and you can see the start of one of his infamous pouty faces pulling his mouth down in an approximation of what you think may actually be the one pouty face to rule them all. A dejected slump makes itself apparent in the curve of his back, and self-hatred starts making its way down to settle in your stomach, a hot sludge of frustration and what-ifs. Fuck it. Like he said, it's mistletoe. You may not believe in the bull-hype of all that comes with it, but he seems to be making an effort in extending a gesture of what you hope has romantic overtures, much better than the stinking shitheap that was the lacklustre fruition of last Christmas season.

You grumble to yourself, and try to pull some shreds of confidence out of your ass.

On your tip-toes, you reach up and land a peck of a kiss on the end of his nose.

"Merry Christmas, Egbert."

**Author's Note:**

> thank you friend


End file.
